


Killing Oksana

by Arriva



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, How dark can I make Eve Polastri, Nature Versus Nurture, Role Reversal, Slow Burn, Stalking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arriva/pseuds/Arriva
Summary: For longtime assassin Eve Polastri, death is a job. For forensic assistant Oksana Astankova, death is the only thing that makes her feel anything.For Eve and Oksana, death is going to bring them together.





	1. So Long Suckers!

Oksana wanted the Westwood.

The more she looked at the coat on the mannequin, the more she convinced herself it was meant for her and only her. Who else could pull off that shade of magenta? And that giant bow in the front... It was the closest thing to love for her. Oksana could see herself wearing it on the Tube, getting espresso at her favorite cafe close to her apartment. Heads would turn to look at her and feel extremely jealous and sad about their own pathetic lives. She looked down at the price tag.

And nearly cried.

£1,513. That was half her rent. It was just fabric. How could a piece of fabric cost so much _money_?

Oksana steeled herself. She prepared for this. She smoothed down the flyaway hairs on her brown wig and grabbed the Westwood in her size (a six). She strode through the posh Londoners and the tourists trying to get just a taste of the wealth Harrods had to offer. They were nothing to her.

The bored saleslady was Oksana's person of interest. Harrods was always short staffed on Fridays. The shift change was in an hour, right as rush hour started, which should mean she was both antsy for work to end and stressed about the commute. Oksana smiled. She picked the perfect day.

Her only uncertainty was whether she should do Lily or Emma.

At the last second, Oksana decided on Emma. "Excuse me?" Oksana said in an accent obtained from watching the Harry Potter movies twice in a row.

The saleslady looked at her like she was ready to go home. "How can I help you?"

"Do you have this in an eight?"

She held out the coat to the saleslady. The saleslady apathetically inspected the label. "Did you check the floor?"

"Well, yes, but I couldn't find it, and I just _love_ this color." Oksana gave a doe-eyed smile. "I would _really_ appreciate if you could check in the back."

At another, lower-class store, the saleslady might have told her that they did not horde extra sizes in "the back." But this was Harrods. The saleslady held back a sigh and said, "Let me see if I can find it."

"Thank you  _so_ much!" Oksana said, her accent slipping a little on the  _so_.

Now came the tricky part.

As soon as the saleslady was out of sight, Oksana dropped the smile. She looked around for any more staff, and seeing none, stuffed the coat down her sweater. She briskly made her way toward the exit. She didn't run because runners attracted attention.

The exit was ten, maybe fifteen, steps away. The Westwood was  _hers_.

"Hey!"

Oksana didn't look to see who said that, but the gruff tone was enough for her to know she had been caught. Oksana bolted out of Harrods. Footsteps thundered behind her, but she knew where she was going. They didn't.

As she turned a corner, Oksana yanked the wig off and threw it into the first trashcan she dashed by. She spared one glance back at her pursuers. Three security guys. Closer than she anticipated. She sped up, ignoring the burning in her lungs. She ran through the street, to the tune of angry honking cars, right to the entrance for the Tube. The train should be arriving in a couple minutes.

"Stop!" one of the men shouted, but Oksana did not stop. Did anyone stealing actually stop when someone told them to? Why did they think that would work?

She shoved her way through impatient commuters, the men gaining on her. Oksana saw the approaching escalator. She knew what she had to do.

One of the men almost grabbed her sleeve, but Oksana leaped onto the escalator rail and slid down it.

"Someone stop her!"

"So long suckers!" Oksana hollered as she practically flew off the rail right as her train slid into the platform. Adrenaline coursing through her body, she ran into the train car just as the doors closed.

Before the men could even get onto the platform, the train took off. Chest heaving, Oksana collapsed into one of the seats. She felt like she was floating. She giddily took the Westwood out and held it up against her body. Perfect. She'd try it on when she wasn't sweaty and disgusting.

Only after the rush of adrenaline started to fade did Oksana notice someone staring at her. An elderly lady. She clutched her purse and had a stern look on her face. "What?" Oksana said.

The lady simply looked at the door where Oksana had flown in like a fugitive.

"Oh. Ex-boyfriend," Oksana clarified. "He's _crazy_."

* * *

The Tube was running late, and so was Eve.

"Shit." Eve squeezed between the throng of commuters, all of them cranky about the commute ahead of them. "Shit, shit, _shit_!" She had to get to Platform 3 before the train arrived.

What she had not accounted for was the crowd. Commuters practically piled one top of each other. Eve squeezed through to the best her ability, but she could only get so far, even without the glares she was getting. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her. "Did you just grab my ass?" Eve said to the man who did indeed grab her ass, but he was long gone by the time she said it. Eve groaned. This was a _heinous_ travel time.

Eve checked the arrival times up over the escalator. "You have got be kidding me."

The train wasn't late anymore. It was coming in two minutes.

No more squeezing. Eve started elbowing and shoving her way down the escalator. "Watch it!" a puffy-faced businessman said after she nearly pushed him off.

"Sorry," Eve muttered.

She got off the escalator and rushed toward Platform 3. One minute and 30 seconds. Eve scanned the crowd for the man. He should be toward the left side of the platform, unless he spontaneously decided to change his routine.

In Eve's experience, very few people spontaneously changed their routines.

One minute and 15 seconds. Eve made her way toward the left side of the platform and spotted him. He was in a navy suit which probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. He stood mere centimeters away from the track, looking at his phone. Completely oblivious.

One minute.

Eve got to where she was right behind him. She bent down, unnoticed by the dozens of commuters too focused on getting home for the weekend.

45 seconds.

Unfortunately, their commute was about to get very delayed. 

30 seconds.

Eve could hear the train thundering toward the platform. She pulled the scalpel out of her jacket. She double checked that the leather dress shoe matched the man she was sent here for. As usual, she was correct. She just liked to check.

15 seconds.

Eve took a breath. She drew back the scalpel and in one swift motion, sliced his Achilles tendon.

10 seconds.

The man staggered. Eve stood up.

5 seconds.

The light of the train filled the platform. And just like Eve mapped out weeks ago, the man fell onto the tracks right as the train pummeled into him.

A few people close enough to see him gasped. One woman screamed. But this was rush hour. Everyone else was too busy clamoring toward the doors to notice the man.

More importantly, no one noticed Eve leaving the platform.

She deposited the scalpel in a trash can. Only as she was making her way toward the escalator, did people start to notice the dead man on the track. Eve was at the top of the escalator when the announcement for all passengers to leave the station finally came. It came with the usual mix of complaints and curiosities from commuters.

Her phone rang. Eve checked the caller ID and smiled. As paramedics rushed past her, she held the phone up to her ear. "Hi honey! How was work?"

Eve walked out of the station while her husband went on about some school event that Eve didn't care about. "Yeah? That's great!"

Police cars pulled up outside the station. "Oh, my day was pretty boring. By the way, do you wanna get takeout for dinner? Someone fell onto the track, and I'm gonna be late." Should she hail a cab? Did Eve really want to spend that kind of money? "God no, I didn't see it, I just heard some other people talking about it."

She should hail a cab. She deserved it.

"Well, you know how commuters get during this time of the day. It's dangerous."

Eve would have killed him a different way, a more painless way.

"I love you too. I'll see you in a bit."

It wasn't her fault he liked to stand so close to the tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had this idea in my head for awhile now, and I really wanna try and take a crack at it! Not 100% sure where it's gonna go but I know how I want it to end and how long I want to it to be so that helps!
> 
> Also I had to Google how to shoplift for this chapter which was real awkward (fun fact [this](https://assets.vogue.com/photos/55c651c708298d8be227e037/master/pass/MARC0015.jpg) is the coat I based Oksana's "purchase" on).
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter is called Just Like Lasagna.


	2. Just Like Lasagna

Konstantin Vasiliev liked two things in the morning: a large cup of black coffee with a single sugar cube and for his assistant to arrive on time.

Usually, he got one of those things.

"Hi boss!" Oksana chirped as she sauntered into the lab.

"You're late."

"Because I got you coffee!"

A large cup of black coffee with a single sugar cube appeared on his desk. Konstantin made a _hmph_ sound but took the cup. "You're still late." In his peripheral, Oksana lingered, waiting for him to ask about the coat. Really to compliment it, but it was hideous. He let out a labored sigh and put down the cup. "What are you wearing?"

"This old thing?" Oksana said innocently. She smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles on the magenta monstrosity. "I found it in the dumpster."

"You think this is a fashion show? You can't wear that during an autopsy."

"Who says?"

"I do."

"Maybe the corpses appreciate it."

"I can tell you, they don't." Konstantin took a sip of coffee. "And more importantly, _I_ don't."

Oksana rolled her eyes. "Relax." She removed the coat, revealing her scrubs. "See? I look ugly and boring now. Like you!"

Of all the forensic assistants in London, Konstantin was certain he got stuck with the most petulant one.

"I don't know why I keep you around."

Oksana set her coat down and plopped into her desk chair. "You can fire me when you find someone else who can read your notes." Oksana and Konstantin both knew that wasn't going to happen because 1) Konstantin's notes were in Russian and 2) they were in Russian cursive. His last three assistants hadn't lasted more than a month.

"Also," Konstantin said to Oksana, who was now spinning like a child in the chair, "a body came in. So go prep it for examination."

Oksana stopped mid-spin. " _Already_?"

"Yes, already. Did you forget you are at work?"

"But it's eight in the morning!" Oksana whined. "I have to recover from the stress of my morning commute." She leaned forward with a pout on her face. "I got catcalled  _three_ times on my way here."

"You think I care? Do your job."

Her pout deepened. Oksana got out of the chair with an exaggerated huff and grabbed some gloves. She'd perk up. She was always an irritable creature in the morning. 

"You'll like this one. It's gruesome."

He had her at gruesome.

* * *

Eve liked to observe people.

That was probably why she was so good at her job. Few people had the patience to sit still for hours and just _watch_. Not without looking at their phone or getting up to stretch their legs. But Eve got lost in it. 

Like this couple two tables in front of her. Eve took an unnecessarily calculated sip of tea as she watched them. What were they talking about? Contrary to the detective shows on television, Eve could not deduce the contents of a conversation from a few well-placed glances, no matter how much she'd like to. But the more she watched, the more she learned. Like how the girl smiled just a little  _too_ wide but kept her arms crossed. Or the way the boy rattled on for minutes a time without noticing how he  _might_ be monopolizing the conversation.

A first date, most likely. One that, if Eve were to guess, was going to end on an underwhelming note.

Absentmindedly, Eve pictured how she'd dispose of them. Making it look like a murder-suicide was most likely the best option. The boy snapped. The girl wasn't giving him what he wanted. He hadn't meant to. He got the gun from a friend, and things just-

"I must warn you I am dreadfully hungover."

Eve looked up and smiled. "Bill!"

And now Eve watched her handler pull out a chair and slump into it. Bill always looked like he just got out of bed, but today, the bags under his eyes were exceptionally dark and his clothes were exceptionally wrinkled. Bill groaned at the motion of sitting down and put his fingers to his temples. "Give me a moment."

Eve's fingers twitched. This was all well and good, but she was far too wired to wait for Bill to get over his hangover. "The job went great. Thanks for asking."

"Something, something 'job well done.' Something 'took initiative' something, something-" Bill squinted. "Has it _always_ been this bright in here?"

"Here." Eve slid the second cup of tea forward. They hadn't just picked this cafe to meet because of obscurity. The tea selection was ungodly.

Bill picked up the cup. "Ginger?"

"Yes."

"With extra honey?"

"Also yes."

"Thank god." Bill took a long, grateful sip of tea. Eve watched impatiently. Bill put the cup down agonizingly slowly then finally, _finally_ got to the point of this meeting. "How is the Clementon assignment running?"

"Like clockwork," Eve said. "It'll be done tonight."

"Good." That was always Bill's response. As long as the job got done, it was good. And Eve always got the job done. Bill reached into his jacket. "You'll need this for the hotel."

He handed her an ID card. Eve picked it up and squinted. "'Na-young Song'? Didn't we use this one for another assignment?"

"Well..."

"Bill, are you getting _lazy_ on me?"

He meekly raised his hands in an admission of guilt. "To be truthful, I doubted anyone would notice."

Lazy bastard. Eve pocketed the ID card. "Don't worry. They never do."

They shared a knowing smile. Eve wondered if anyone in the cafe was watching. Wondering what they were talking about. Maybe to a random stranger they looked like two old friends sharing an inside joke. They could be co-workers stopping in for a cup of tea before their workdays started. Or on the off-chance, to someone very paranoid and very irrational, they were two professionals discussing murder.

"How's Niko by the way?" Bill asked.

"Good. We're going to a fundraiser next week."

To be fair, they were all those things.

* * *

Oksana liked one particular thing about corpses.

She hauled the body bag up onto the examination table, grunting when the lower half got stuck around one of the table legs. The sheer  _weight_ of a corpse never failed to surprise her. And this arsehole weighed a ton. Oksana hoped he wasn't leaking yet. She pulled once, then twice, finally getting the entire bag up on the table. Oksana winced, the sharp tug of a pulled muscle hitting her shoulder. It would be worth it. Every pulled muscle, every foul odor, every fluid seeping out, was always worth it.

Oksana unzipped the bag like she was handling a precious artifact. To her, it was. The first look at the body was sacred, and more importantly, it was always Oksana who had the first look. Konstantin usually came in a few minutes later. Oksana pulled back the flaps and laid eyes on the corpse. 

She let out a shuddered breath.

"Beautiful."

Konstantin did not disappoint. Her pulse quickened as her eyes traveled from the feet and up, passing over mangled skin and broken bones. She could forgo this part, but she liked to build up to the moment. It made it all the more savory.

Finally, Oksana met the corpse's eyes.

A smile blossomed on her face. The eyes, the _eyes_ , made the scrubs and the ungrateful boss and the shitty hours worth it. Warmth flooded her body as she stared into the corpse's eyes. One of them was dangling out of his socket. It didn't matter because in that moment, Oksana felt as alive as the corpse was dead, and she felt the way normal people were supposed to feel, and everything was _wonderful-_

Then it faded. It always faded. 

Oksana exhaled the last bit of warmth from her body. Now it was just a corpse, an interesting, gory corpse, but still just a corpse. She finished setting up.

"His name was Horace Clementon. Age sixty-five," Konstantin said as he entered the lab with a tablet. "He was commuting from work when he fell onto the track. Train mauled him a few seconds later."

"He looks just like lasagna," Oksana remarked. "Why did they send him to _us_?"

"Because he was head of a very influential energy company, and they want to make sure his death didn't involve foul play."

Boring. The crimes of passion were so much more interesting. Oksana snapped her gloves on and got to work. Oksana's favorite crime they'd been involved with was the man who murdered his girlfriend because she burnt his spinach casserole. He'd slammed her head right into the aforementioned casserole and given her third degree burns. Among other things. Oksana had laughed when Konstantin told her. If this was a murder, it had no pizzazz.

Then, thirty minutes into the autopsy, Oksana spotted something odd.

"Wait. Look at this." Oksana twisted Clementon's leg around, which was very easy because his leg was broken. She leaned closer to the dead man’s ankle. "Is that an incision?"

"What?" Konstantin peered over her shoulder. "Let me take a look."

The cut had sliced through the man's Achilles tendon. It measured a little over 7 centimeters. Such a small incision with such potential for damage. "So is this foul play?" Oksana asked Konstantin. He didn't answer. "Konstantin?"

She looked over to her boss who had a distant look in his eyes. He sometimes did this. Fixating on one certain part of a body for minutes at a time. At first, Oksana thought he was just being a big baby, but what she mistook for squeamishness she later came to realize was something else. Something she had not yet figured out.

Konstantin snapped out of his trance and wrote something down on the tablet. "MI5 will want to know about this."

"Oooh, so  _serious._ " Oksana playfully bumped her hip against his. "You need to lighten up. Take your family to Disneyland or something."

At that moment, with Oksana and Konstantin standing over the mangled remains of Horace Clementon, a distraught young woman, no older than thirty, burst into the lab. "Where is he? Where's Horace?"

Oksana scrambled to put herself in front of the body and out of view of their visitors. That was one of the first things Konstantin had to teach her when a nine-year old boy came into the lab and got a full view of his dead mother because Oksana failed to realize that bodies are kind of an upsetting thing.

"We haven't taken him out yet," Oksana lied.

"Who are you?" Konstantin said.

The woman had long auburn hair and wore a cream colored button-up and a pleated red miniskirt Oksana would have killed for. She looked like one of those pretty young office workers Oksana used to envy. The ones who got to wear cute suggestive outfits to work while not doing any actual work. Her makeup was probably perfect too, at least when it wasn't running down her face from tears.

"I'm Zoey," the woman said like that would explain everything. It didn't. "His wife!" But that did.

"His wife?" Oksana looked back to Konstantin and mouthed  _Holy shit!_

Zoey sniffled. "Please let me see him. I need to see my- my-" And Zoey Clementon burst into tears in front of two people she'd just met.

Oksana hated crying. It was such an ugly, awkward thing to watch. And Zoey was an _ugly_ crier. Her face got all scrunchy and she sounded like a dying seal. God, it was embarrassing. If Zoey was going cry, at least do it in the privacy of her own home and spare Oksana from enduring it. She and Konstantin stared awkwardly at the weeping woman, both unified in wanting her out of the lab. Konstantin gestured toward her, trying to prompt Oksana to calm her down. Oksana balked.  _No!_ she mouthed.

 _Yes!_ Konstantin mouthed back.  _Or you're fired!_

Oksana inhaled sharply. He was only making her do this because she was a woman. Oksana forced her face to morph into a look of comfort as she approached Zoey. "Hey, Zoey." She tenderly placed her hand on Zoey's arm. Touch and names. That's what she learned endeared you to people. "You look like you could use some water. Why don't I get you some?"

Oksana stroked her arm, lightly but just enough to make Zoey shiver. "I think..." The tears trickled to a stop. "I think I could use some water."

"Go back into the hallway. I'll be with you in just a moment," Oksana said.

Zoey nodded and wiped at the tears in her eyes. "All right. Thank you...?"

"Oksana."

Zoey smiled sheepishly. "Thank you, Oksana."

Oksana smiled back, a perfect copy of Zoey's.

The minute Zoey was out the door, Konstantin said, "Don't sleep with his wife."

"Why not?"

"It's bad taste."

"Ugh, fine. I won't sleep with his wife."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who nearly forgot that Europe uses centimeters not inches to measure stuff? This American gal! Thanks for reading! Just as a warning updates are gonna be kind of slow on this.
> 
> The next chapter is called "Your Shirt Is Inside Out" :)


	3. Your Shirt Is Inside Out

Sixteen hours later, Oksana had slept with Horace Clementon's wife. Twice.

It was good for Zoey to be with somebody her age. Especially in her time of bereavement. They'd gone out for drinks that evening (which Zoey paid for) and several tequila shots later, they ended up in a hotel room in Chelsea that Horace kept on retainer. Apparently this was something rich people did. The room was luxurious. Oksana could fit her shoebox of an apartment five times, maybe even six, into it.

So there they were, naked in a king-size bed where Zoey had probably had considerably less amazing sex with her now-deceased husband. "Wow," Zoey said, tresses of red hair spread across the pillow, "thanks for the... you know..."

"The sex?" Oksana offered. "You're welcome."

Oksana stretched back onto the multitude of feather pillows. Amazing. She could stretch her entire body out and not even bump against Zoey. With a bed this huge, Zoey and Horace could pretend they were in two separate beds. That's what Oksana would do. Based on the picture the lab received, Horace was uglier _before_ the train hit him.

Oksana was set to drift off to sleep and dream about the room service she'd order in the morning when she felt eyes on her. She turned her head. Zoey was looking at her like she was a stain on the sheets.

"So I need you to leave," Zoey said.

Oksana didn't budge. "But it's three in the morning."

"Yeah, but I've got company tomorrow morning," Zoey said in that shallow, apologetic tone Oksana was so used to hearing from rich girls. She innocently ran a hand through her hair. "Some of Horace's people. It's boring business stuff, but it wouldn't look good. You being here."

Oksana looked at her in disbelief. Zoey was tossing her out like a used tampon. "You're serious."

Zoey gave a half-hearted smile. "Yeah..."

The _audacity-_ keep it together. Oksana huffed. "Fine."

It wasn't fine. It was so completely off from fine. But Oksana couldn’t tell Zoey that. Just like she couldn’t claw that fake-polite look off her porcelain perfect face. Because it "wasn’t right." As much as the image of Zoey's face torn to ribbons sent a chill through-

Oksana swallowed that urge. She threw the bedsheet sheet off and reached for her clothes. Stupid rich people. Also Oksana had done all the work. All Zoey did was lay back on the pillows and moan.

As she was zipping up her boots, Oksana saw the red miniskirt. It was just carelessly draped over a chair next to Zoey's vanity. Oksana snuck a look back at Zoey. She was already drifting off. Oksana didn't think twice before snatching up the skirt and shoving it deep into her purse. Consider it payment. Zoey probably had so many clothes she wouldn't even notice.

Oksana grabbed her jacket and gave one last look around at the room, at the luxury she would never be able to afford. And Zoey, resting in bed like a fucking princess. Oksana stuck her tongue out at her. It didn't do anything, but it felt good.

She slammed the door on her way out for good measure. 

Oksana walked a few doors down before realizing she had absolutely idea how to get out of here. Everything between the fifth tequila shot and the taking off each other's clothes was a boozed-out blur. Oksana strode down one end of the hall where she could have sworn the elevator was, but she was only met with a supply closet. Great. Now she couldn't even get _away_ from Zoey. With balled-up fists, Oksana stalked down toward the other side of the hallway.

She spotted a maid coming out of one of the rooms with a cleaning cart. "Hey." The maid, an Asian woman, looked up. "Do you know which way the elevator is?"

The maid pointed stiffly to her left.

"Thank you!"

Oksana passed by her with the last bit of her dignity when the maid said, "Your shirt is inside out."

And there it went. Oksana stopped and groaned. The cherry on top of a dismal night. With little regard for the maid's presence, she yanked her shirt off and tugged it right side in.

As Oksana pulled her shirt back over her head, her eyes met the maid's.

Up until now, Oksana hadn't truly looked at her. Why would she? But something about the maid drew her in. Oksana could feel the maid taking in her honey-blonde hair, her rumpled last-season clothes, and that tired, hungry look in her eyes that never went away. And Oksana took in the maid's slicked back ponytail, the uniform that was a size too big for her small frame, and her dark, unreadable eyes. She had a face Oksana would recognize in a crowd, but if asked to describe her, she wouldn’t be able to. 

A weird... understanding passed between them. Not about anything specific, just understanding.

Then the maid broke the eye contact and continued down the hallway. Oksana lingered on her for only a moment before exhaustion hit her like a wave. And her thoughts became occupied with which trains were still running this late and how cold it was outside. If she was rich, she could call a cab.

Being poor sucked.

* * *

The next day, Oksana went into work with a headache and a foul mood. She dwelled little on the night before, even if she did pick at her salad with a little more aggression than usual. It got easier as the day went on. She did some online shopping. Konstantin blathered on about his daughter's talent show, and Oksana even managed to feign interest. She was doing a pretty good job of forgetting about last night.

Until the autopsy that afternoon. Oksana zipped open the bag.

The body of Zoey Clementon stared back up at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow a fast update! This is not the norm, but this was a very contained chapter. I know this fic has been a little Oksana-heavy so far but don't worry! We're gonna have more Eve stuff in the next few chapters!
> 
> The next chapter is tentatively called, "Her?"


	4. Nice Tits

Oksana had seen a lot of bodies on this slab. But never the body of someone she knew. It was... fascinating. Zoey was still in the first hours of decomposition so she looked mostly like herself, save for splotches of discoloration from where blood was pooling. And the smell. Oksana tilted her head. She spotted a pinprick on Zoey's left arm; it didn't take a degree in forensic pathology to figure out where that came from. Poor Zoey Clementon, dead at age twenty-six. Oksana supposed she should feel upset, maybe go to the bathroom and cry? But all Oksana could think about was how Zoey was very stupid and very dead.

And she had some really  _nice_ earrings on.

Before Oksana could snatch them up, Konstantin came back with a folder. "According to her parents, Zoey had a heroin problem."

"What was the time of death?" Oksana asked.

She knew. Even before Konstantin said it she knew.

"Around three in the morning."

Oksana stiffened. Just because she knew didn't mean she wanted to be right. Because that meant Oksana was probably the last person to see Zoey alive. And that meant police. And _questions_. The last thing Oksana wanted was to sit in a fluorescent room and drink bad coffee and have two idiot cops grill her about her life and why she was with Zoey Clementon the night she died.

This whole thing was Zoey's fault. Maybe if Zoey hadn't kicked Oksana out, she wouldn't be dead. Why would Zoey shoot heroin anyway? She was practically asleep by the time Oksana slipped out the door. Come to think of it, why would she shoot up only hours before she was expecting people over? Oksana couldn't call herself a heroin expert, but it just felt off.

Oksana felt Konstantin's eyes boring into her. She looked up. He had that sour look on his face saved only for when he was at his most disgruntled with her. "You are being very quiet, Oksana."

"I'm just... concentrating on my work," Oksana said. She grabbed her clipboard to prove it. "See? I'm diligent like that."

"Did you have sex with Zoey Clementon last night?"

That one question sucked any pretense of a casual conversation out of the lab. Oksana's chest felt tight. A strained laugh escaped her lips. "Konstantin, I..." Think of a lie, think of the perfect lie, why was he glaring at her so intensely? Oksana crossed her arms. "What I do off the clock is none of your concern."

"Were you with her last night?" he said.

Oksana scoffed. "I don't have to-"

" _Answer me_."

Oksana took a step back. Konstantin never spoke to her like this. He was serious to the point of annoying, but he was acting like _she_ was involved in Zoey's death. She gave the most innocuous shrug she could manage. "We had a real connection?"

"What were you _thinking_?" Konstantin yelled, making Oksana jump.

"Why are you freaking out!?"

"Oksana, this is serious. You could be deported!"

"I won't be deported."

Konstantin hand's bunched into fists. "Did you give her heroin?" Oksana gaped at him. " _Did you?_ "

"All I gave her is the best sex she ever had."

Konstantin slammed his fist against the slab. "Oksana, be serious!"

"I didn't give her heroin! I am not an idiot!" Oksana snapped. She slouched against her desk and picked at a hangnail. Irritation clung to her like a cheap blouse. "Besides, Zoey kicked me out around two thirty."

Konstantin made a disgruntled  _hmph_ sound, which was the closest thing to an apology Oksana would get. "You shouldn't be mixing yourself up with people like the Clementons."

"Whatever,  _Dad_."

"I'm serious. Rich families like that are trouble. Always."

"Well, it's not like I'll be seeing her again."

At that, they both turned toward the body on the slab. It was well past the time they allotted to do the autopsy. At least, Oksana thought, Zoey couldn't get any deader. "Heroin's a nasty way to go," Konstantin remarked.

"Sucks for the cleaning lady who was working that night."

Suddenly, Konstantin's entire body tensed up. "There was a cleaning lady?"

"In the hallway, yeah."

He didn't press her further. Not for a while. But during the autopsy, he was distant. Normally, Oksana was the one to drift into autopilot during autopsies, but today she could have chopped her fingers off, and Konstantin wouldn't have batted an eye. They were nearly done with the autopsy when he stepped away from the slab and walked toward the big window facing the street. "What did she look like?" he asked.

"Who?"

"The cleaning lady."

"Oh. Well..." Oksana thought back to last night. "She was Asian. Short, but not petite." Oksana remembered one more important detail. " _Amazing_ hair."

Konstantin didn't respond. He was very pale, and his gaze didn't leave the window. Oksana noticed his right hand was trembling. She'd watch him crack skulls open and never get this affected. What was it about the woman Oksana saw at the hotel? 

Frankly, the answer wasn't interesting enough to make her put up with him. _"Konstantin..."_ Oksana crept up behind him and whispered, "Why are you being so broody?"

And then he was back to normal. "It's nothing. Get back to work."

But throughout the rest of the day, Konstantin kept coming back to the window. 

* * *

In a derelict warehouse in Berlin, Eve was elbow-deep in intestines when Bill called.

Eve's stomach turned when she saw the caller ID. First of all, Bill picked the worst time to call; she was in the middle of a podcast. Second of all, the only time Bill called while she was on an assignment was if something had gone wrong. Only Eve couldn't think of any hiccups from her recent assignment. What was going on?

Eve took a moment to compose herself. _Breathe_. The job was going fine. She'd done nothing wrong.

She yanked a bloody latex glove off with her teeth and pressed Answer. "Hi."

"You said there were no witnesses."

Eve's grip tightened on the spleen in her hand. London. The Clementon assignment. "Yeah," she said with a touch of irritation. She tossed the spleen into the blender. "There _weren't_."

"That's funny. Were you talking to a ghost in that hallway?"

Eve went still. It couldn't be.

"Eve?"

"I heard you," she said in an even tone.

"So? Did you-"

Eve turned the blender on to full power. The surveillance footage. Bill had found the _fucking_ surveillance footage which meant hotel security could find the surveillance footage which meant practically anyone could find the surveillance footage. Eve watched the blender liquify the spleen with an intense fury. How could she have been so reckless? Once the spleen fully liquified, she turned off the blender.

Bill started, "If you could-"

Only to turn it right back on again. She was being sloppy, that's how. _Fuck_. Zoey Clementon was supposed to be alone, Eve had observed her and her husband to know that. She should have taken into account the shock of losing a spouse. The types of impulsive behaviors that might emerge. But how the hell was Eve supposed to factor Zoey Clementon bringing a  _woman_ back to her hotel? 

With an irritated huff, Eve turned the blender off. "Eve," Bill said patiently, "I know you-"

Nope, one more time. If the woman hadn't left the Clementon suite, Eve could have just killed them both but no, of course she had to leave. It came down to bad timing, really. She should have just shown the woman where the elevator was and left it at that. But she didn't, and now she'd have to deal with the consequences.

Eve turned the blender off.

"Eve."

Bill was annoyed with her. That was fair. "Sorry," Eve said with tight smile. "You were saying?"

"So you did see someone."

Eve could lie. If only she hadn't _talked_ to her. "Yes. A woman. Young. Honey colored hair." She pictured that night in the hallway and remembered one more important detail. "Nice tits."

On the other end of the line, Bill groaned.

"Hey, you asked!" Eve said. If she could just convince Bill this wasn't a big deal, things would be fine. "She just asked me where the elevator was. That's it."

"That's it?"

"Well, if it wasn't, then obviously she wouldn't be breathing," Eve said calmly. "Who is she?"

"We're not sure yet."

That was promising. "Is she connected to the Clementons?"

"Not that we're aware of.

That was also promising. Still... "Do I need to kill her?"

"Potentially," Bill said. "If anything relevant comes up, I'll inform you. You just focus on the Berlin assignment." Eve let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She was out of trouble for now. "How _is_ Berlin?"

"Cold. Sticky. The body, not Berlin." Eve cast her eyes toward what used to be a very controversial consultant for Germany's parliament. "Berlin is... fine."

In all honesty, Eve was never much of a sightseer on her assignments. The longer she spent in a location, the more of a trace she left. The best course of action was to slip in and out as discreetly as possible. Which meant -Eve picked up the bonesaw- getting the rest of this body into little pieces and pouring it out into the Spree river. Quick and discreet.

"Well, it sounds like you have everything under control," Bill said. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Thanks, Bill."

Eve hung up and put the podcast back on. She got to work with the bonesaw, which was normally her favorite part of disposal, but today it just didn't hold her attention. Her thoughts kept drifting back to _her_. The woman in the hallway. She had such a... _hunger_ in her eyes. They were the eyes of someone who would never be satiated but would keep wanting and wanting, trying vainly to fill that void. What must that be like? To want so strongly, but never find fulfillment?

Eve wouldn't know.

She never wanted anything.

Eve picked up the large intestine and threw it in the blender. Funnily -Eve smiled at this- the blood on the table matched the red of the woman's shirt. Eve still remembered the way she lifted up her shirt, so casually, so devoid of self-consciousness. Had she wanted Eve to look at her body? Because Eve did. She took a long, good look at her body.

And she did have nice tits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the long break between chapters... pobody's nerfect?
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. Strictly Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter has Niko :|

For all intents and purposes, Eve loved her husband.

Maybe  _love_ wasn't the right word. Eve... enjoyed her husband. She enjoyed the conveniences of having another person in her life. Like having someone who knew what kind of wine to get her without asking. Or the wedding ring on her finger and how its presence diverted the attention a middle-aged woman alone in London might receive. She also enjoyed being with someone who knew every inch of her body, even if the sex was average at best. Sometimes she even enjoyed his personality.

But if Niko dropped dead right now, Eve would mourn not the loss of his companionship, but the loss of his convenience.

Subsequently, Eve did not enjoy the annual cocktail party at the school Niko taught at. The drinks were dull and the teachers were duller. But she threw on a cheap dress and came with him because that was the thing spouses were supposed to do.

Even so this year's party was downright painful. Bad pop music played while Eve waited impatiently in a corner of the gymnasium for Niko to bring her a drink. For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Eve checked her phone. Bill still hadn't texted her. Eve started to draft a text to him, only to delete the draft and stuff her phone back into her purse. God, this was pathetic. She normally wasn't the type to compulsively check her phone like this but... she wanted to make sure the Clementon assignment had no loose ends.

The woman in the hallway was a loose end. Maybe she was no one. But Eve couldn't relax on the off chance that she was someone. What if she had ties to the Clementons? Or another organization? That was why Eve was so restless. That was why every every time she got into bed, the woman's face flashed in her head.

Strictly business reasons.

Just like Niko approaching her with a woman Eve did not know or care about was also business.

In the five crucial seconds between seeing them and engaging with them, Eve noticed a few things about this woman. She was cute in the nonthreatening way so many upper level teachers were. She kept very little walking distance between herself and Niko. Most prominently, she wore a sundress that came down to her knees but showcased a considerable amount of cleavage for a school function. And Eve had to make conversation with her.

She could  _really_ use that text from Bill right about now...

"Eve, this is Gemma!" Niko said.

Eve smiled warmly- "Hi!" -but swallowed the urge to stab someone.

"It's so great to finally meet you!" the very perky Gemma said as she pulled Eve into a hug that Eve did not ask for and lasted several seconds too long. "The amazing Eve Polastri! Niko talks about all the time. You are so _pretty_."

"That is so sweet of you," Eve said. Her fingers twitched to check her phone again. "And how do you know Niko?"

"Just chats in the teacher's lounge. And we were both chaperones on the class trip to Edinburgh a few months back. Practically in the trenches together!" Gemma said with a high-pitched laugh. The laugh died down and an awkward silence took its place. Gemma fidgeted nervously. "I understand you travel a lot?"

"For work, yes."

"What is it you do exactly?" she said.

"Eve is an operations consultant," Niko chimed in.

"Yes, a lot of the companies I consult for are scattered around Europe, so I'm always flying," Eve said. "Lots of late hours, lots of languages I half-understand. It's a lot more boring than I'm making it sound."

Eve liked her fake job particularly because of how boring it sounded.

An oblivious Gemma beamed. "Wow, very sophisticated! You never told me your wife was so worldly, Niko." She gave Niko a playful punch in the arm. Eve wondered, was Gemma this friendly with the other teachers? "And so gorgeous too! I love this dress. Did you get it on one of your trips?"

"In Paris, yes," Eve lied. She'd found it in the clearance rack at TK Maxx.

"You are just- wow! Stunning. Absolutely stunning," Gemma said. "I see why you talk about her so much, Niko."

"Well, that is why I married her," he said.

Gemma pursed her lips ever so slightly. _Interesting_. "Well. I think I need to go save Emma from bad-breath Alan so if you'll excuse me. Lovely to meet you, Eve. "

The moment Gemma was out of sight, Eve leaned over to Niko and said, "Should I be worried?"

Niko frowned. "About what?"

"I don't know, the assault of compliments?"

"She was being nice!"

"Until you mentioned you were married. I could practically feel the temperature drop."

Niko bristled the way he always did when Eve confronted him about a touchy subject. "Gemma's just a friend."

"Yeah, a friend looking for benefits."

" _Eve_!"

"I'm just joking!" Eve said quickly. He snapped at her. Niko  _snapped_ at her. That _asshole_ \- Eve gently put a hand on his arm. "I'm not worried." Niko looked unconvinced. "Hey, seriously. I'm not."

Clearly this was going to take more than some kind words. Eve grabbed him by his tie and pulled him in for a kiss that was most definitely not appropriate for a school function. She felt him soften in her grip, felt him _want_ her. Perfect.

"Meet me in your classroom and I'll prove it," she whispered in his ear.

She kissed him once more then slipped out of the gymnasium. She caught Gemma glancing longingly in Niko's direction, but it didn't bother her. Niko wouldn't cheat on her. He had no reason to. They communicated. They fought, but reasonably so. Eve gave him everything he wanted. And she was about to give him some amazing sex.

Eve had every intention of going straight to Niko's classroom, but halfway there, her phone pinged. She ducked into an empty stairwell and fished her phone out of her purse. 

It was a text.

From Bill.

Eve inhaled sharply, anticipation eating at her like a parasite. She unlocked her phone, and opened the message. It was only two words. 

_Oksana Astankova_

So she had a name. "Oksana Astankova," Eve murmured, feeling the way her name rolled off her tongue. It was a nice name. Checked out with the accent too. Suddenly, a second text pinged. Bill had sent her a picture. It was a grainy CCTV screenshot of a young woman leaving a hotel. Her clothes were rumpled, and she had a tired, disgruntled look on her face.

Even so, Oksana Astankova was nice to look at.

Eve put her phone away. She should get going. Only... Eve pulled her phone back out and zoomed in on the picture. Yes, Oksana Astankova was _very_ nice to look at. Did she know how close she'd come to death?

A final text came from Bill.

_Await further instructions._

Eve smiled, the first genuine smile she'd had since showing up at this excruciating function. She allowed herself one last gaze at Oksana Astankova then put her phone away.

Later, while Eve was having sex with Niko, all she could think about was how nice Oksana Astankova was to look at.

* * *

The next morning, after Niko had left to teach, Eve checked the mail. Her eyes lit up when she saw what was at the back.

A postcard.

Eve calmly fished it out of the mailbox. On the front was a picture of the London Eye. She flipped the postcard over. Anyone passing by wouldn't have noticed anything odd about her demeanor, but internally, her mind was racing. Written on the back of the postcard was a name she was all too familiar with. She couldn't say she was surprised, but it was unexpected. No matter.

Eve had her next assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niko's role will be minimal but for plot reasons he does have to be in the story.
> 
> Please forgive me.


	6. Why Are You Saying Stupid Things?

In the early hours, long before most people started commuting to work, Konstantin left for the day. He went to the Tube station that took him to the coroner's office, but he did not board. Instead, he sat on a bench and waited. A couple people passed by, too tired to notice him; he did choose this spot for its inconspicuousness.

Then a young man in sweats came into sight. He was carrying a burgundy backpack. Konstantin straightened in his seat. The young man did not look directly at Konstantin but instead sat on the opposite end of the bench, looking straight ahead at the train tracks. They sat in silence, until the next train came, and the few stragglers in the station boarded. 

Now that they were alone, Konstantin spoke first. "You are looking well."

"I shouldn't even be talking to you," the young man said bluntly. 

"How is your mother?"

"Fine."

Konstantin looked over at him. The young man was stiff as a board. "Kenny, you have no reason to be afraid of me."

Kenny did not look assuaged by this. "I know, it's just... she doesn't know I'm here."

"It will be our little secret," Konstantin said. "Do you have the footage?"

Kenny fished a tablet out of his backpack and unlocked it. He was about to pass it over, but then he froze. "Before I show this to you, you're not going to... well, you need to-" He looked down at his shoes. "Just be prepared."

"It's her, isn't it?"

Kenny wordlessly slid the tablet over. It showed a grainy videocam clip from a hotel hallway on a loop. In this video, three things happened. A maid pushed a cleaning cart down the hallway, her back to the camera. Then a young woman -Oksana- stormed down the hallway and spoke. Then the maid turned around.

And all of Konstantin's worst fears were affirmed.

Konstantin stared hard at Eve. He hadn't wanted to be right. Why did he have to be right? He felt like he was seeing a ghost, but a ghost would have been far less troubling. "So Carolyn did not honor our agreement."

"Did you really expect her to?" Kenny said.

At this, Konstantin chuckled. Eve was alive, and all he could do was laugh. "No. I did not. Thank you, Kenny."

Kenny grabbed the tablet and stuffed it back in his backpack. He stood to leave but hesitated. "They're watching her."

"Watching who?"

"Your assistant," he said.

Konstantin swallowed the lump in his throat. "I see."

Then Kenny was gone, and Konstantin was very alone and very exposed. He stood slowly, so as not to attract attention. If he panicked, things would not end well. He thought to Oksana. She would panic. Or she would refuse to take things seriously like she did so many things. That insolent girl. But Konstantin could not fault her for that. If he had lead the kind of life she had, he would probably be the same way.

Konstantin got on the next train. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of curly black hair.

He looked over his shoulder. But of course, no one was there.

Not yet at least.

* * *

While Oksana Astankova left for work that morning, Eve watched from a cafe across the street. Since learning her identity, Eve had dug up a few things about Oksana. First, she emigrated from Russia when she was sixteen. Second, she worked at a coroner's office in south London. And lastly, she was not a morning person.

That tidbit of information came up just now as Eve observed Oksana leaving her apartment complex. A bleary-eyed Oksana trudged down the sidewalk, fully made up and dressed in a posh cobalt trench, because Oksana still valued appearance over sleep. Eve suspected that at the hotel, and seeing her again confirmed it. Oksana Astankova could be late for work as long as she looked like she stepped out of _Vogue_.

Did people read _Vogue_ anymore? Eve wasn't sure.

Oksana crossed the street and walked toward the cafe. Eve held her breath. Would she come in? Would she notice Eve tucked away in the corner, even with her baseball cap pulled down?

She stopped in front of the window. Her eyes did not fall on Eve but on the pastries. There was that hunger again, manifesting more literally today. Eve put her hand under her chin. Her eyes traced over Oksana's silky blonde hair, the part of her lips, the way the sliver of morning sun hit her skin- Eve tore her gaze away. She couldn't stare; someone would notice. But Eve could look at Oksana all day and keep finding new things to notice about her. It was like having a shiny new toy.

Would Oksana risk waiting in line to order? Eve checked her watch. It was 8:25. Oksana had to be at work by 8:30.

Oksana must have been thinking the same thing. She abruptly turned her heel and strode back in the direction she came. She made the right decision. Eve was almost done with her tea, and she didn't feel like getting a second cup to wait some more.

But Eve did wait fifteen more minutes, nursing the last few sips of her tea, in case Oksana returned. She'd left in a rush, so it was very possible she'd forgotten something. But fifteen minutes passed, and Eve saw no trace of Oksana, so she assumed Oksana was gone for the day.

Which meant Eve had to get to work.

She picked up her toolkit -completely empty, but that was deliberate- and headed for Oksana's apartment. Oksana lived in a modest building in one of the poorer areas of London. Not Barking and Dagenham, but not Chelsea by any means. A place here would have been cheap outside London but within the city, Eve bet a hefty chunk of Oksana's paycheck went toward the rent.

Oksana's apartment was on the fourth floor. Eve ascended the stairs like she was supposed to be here, because as far as anyone else knew, Eve was exactly where she was supposed to be. The clothes helped. Eve wore a pair of coveralls and a utility belt.

If there was one thing Eve had learned doing this job, it was nobody noticed maintenance workers.

Eve gave a calculated knock on Oksana's door. "Electrician!" she said. She waited a few seconds. Well, no one was home. _Clearly_ Eve would have to let herself in. If only she had a copy of the landlord's skeleton key- oh wait, she did. Because Eve came prepared. Oksana's landlord had a particularly nasty drinking habit. He really should have been more careful about where he left his keys. Practically anyone could just... slip the skeleton key off on a night he blacked out at a pub and make a copy without him noticing it was ever gone.

Eve let herself into Oksana's apartment without a hitch.

And nearly walked right back out.

The first thing Eve took in about Oksana's place was the sheer amount of _stuff_. Her place was not much bigger than a studio apartment; she had a pantry-sized kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom that also doubled as a living room. And every inch of it was crammed with something. Mostly clothes. They were in piles on the floor, stuffed into dressers, at the foot of her bed. Oksana even had a handful of dresses hanging from the chandelier in the middle of the room. For Eve, the mess was agonizing to look at. She wanted to just take everything and chuck it out the window.

Beneath the explosion of clothes, Eve saw a semblance of taste. The furniture was all old but good quality. Oksana had painted the walls a dusty rose color. And the art on the walls -pressed flowers, sketches of beautiful women in lavish dresses- suggested an appreciation for the feminine. Truthfully, Oksana had the makings Parisian-style apartment but on the budget of a forensic assistant living in London.

So then what on earth compelled Oksana to move from Russia to England?

Eve set the toolbox down. She'd start with the clothes. Eve weaved through the piles, picking things up and setting them back down just the way Oksana had them. And what she gathered was Oksana had expensive taste. She didn't know much about designers, but a few high-end labels stuck out to her. For instance -Eve picked up a cardigan with a Moschino tag- didn't a piece like this one retail for hundreds, if not thousands of pounds? How did Oksana afford all this on a forensic assistant's salary?

Eve picked up a dress and saw the alarm tag still attached to it. So that was how.

While searching, Eve found something interesting. She wasn't even looking for it, but she opened the chest at the foot of Oksana's bed and there it was, practically waiting for her.

The shirt Oksana was wearing the night at the hotel.

Eve ran her fingers over the blood red fabric. It was soft in the way expensive clothes were always soft. She brought the shirt up to her nose and inhaled. She smelled perfume and formaldehyde. Of course Oksana wore perfume. Eve set the shirt inside her toolbox. Oksana wouldn't miss it. She'd probably already forgotten she had the shirt.

She turned to Oksana's vanity. Keeping with the trend of clutter, the vanity was littered with makeup. A lot of lipsticks. Eve picked up a shade called  _L'enfer,_ whatever that meant; her French was horrendous. It was a useless language, and she'd never bothered to learn more than a few basic phrases. But this deep pink shade might work. Eve delicately applied the lipstick. She looked at her reflection in the vanity and pictured Oksana sitting here, getting ready in the morning, deciding how to present herself today.

Yes, this lipstick would do nicely.

Eve idly looked through the rest of Oksana's vanity out of curiosity. Nothing interesting. Until she ran her fingers down the side of the dresser, and Eve found a ridge in the wood. She leaned over. The vanity had a side compartment. With a keyhole.

Now what could Oksana be hiding in here?

Eve took the lock picks out of her utility belt. Picking the lock only took her a minute; these types of locks were more for aesthetic than actual safekeeping anyway. She opened up the little compartment. She found a few things. A fake ID. A few pounds and euros. A silver pendant, tarnished with age, with an _O_ dangling from the chain. But the last thing Eve found was by far the most telling thing in the hiding place.

Tied together with a red ribbon was a stack of notes.

Eve gingerly undid the ribbon. The paper was soft from age. The notes were in -Eve scowled- more French. What did Oksana see in that country? The contents of the notes would remain a mystery, but they were dated roughly nine years ago. More importantly, they all had a name signed at the bottom.

_Anna_

Who could she be? An old friend? Something more? She had to be someone important for Oksana to hold on to these. Interesting as this was, Eve didn't come here to look at notes. She put the notes back in place and turned her attention toward the closet. It was half-open, teasing a monstrous horde of clothes awaiting whoever dared open it. 

Eve dared. She opened both doors, taking in the burst of colors and fabrics. Mostly pinks, and a good deal of patterns too. Oksana did not strike Eve as an earth tones kind of person.

So what would Oksana wear? Eve's fingers brushed against a suit jacket. She'd never been very fashion focused, but she liked the pale pink shade. Eve pulled the jacket out of the closet and found a matching pair of pants. Yes... she _really_ liked this shade of pink.

She brought the suit up to Oksana's full-length mirror and held it against her body. The pants were too long, but Eve could fix that with heels. Oksana also had a significantly larger chest, but Eve could work around that. What must Oksana look like in this? Perhaps she paired the suit with a silk blouse or maybe she just didn't wear anything at all underneath...

Eve shook Oksana Astankova out of her head. She sighed. That was happening too much. It was probably just the assignment taking up her headspace. At least Eve hoped so. Once this assignment ended, Eve could rid herself of all thoughts about Oksana and get on with her life.

Soon now. Soon Eve would be done with her. For the moment, she opened her toolkit and neatly placed the suit inside. Normally, she didn't put in this much effort into her assignments. It would be much easier to just get the job over with quickly and quietly.

But this job was special.

Eve wanted this job to hurt.

* * *

Oksana returned from her lunch to find Konstantin uncharacteristically solemn. His pastrami sandwich, normally a favorite of his, sat untouched on his desk. Sure, Konstantin was a serious man, but even at his most serious, Konstantin never passed up a meal.

Oksana sat down on the corner of his desk. "Are you going to eat that or just stare at it?" she said.

Konstantin did not respond. Oksana grabbed the sandwich and took a bite. If he wanted to be a moody teenager, that was his problem. She wasn't letting a perfectly good sandwich go to waste. Although she did miss his annoyed outbursts that came every time she touched his food. Today, he was so _quiet_. And when he wasn't staring contemplatively at a random object, Oksana could feel his eyes on her. 

"You know," Oksana said between bites of the sandwich, "my old therapist used to say if I had a problem, I needed to verbalize it instead of sitting around like a wet blanket."

"Is this the one you slept with or the old one?" Konstantin said quietly.

"The one I slept with."

Konstantin rose out of his chair with the weariness of someone much older. "I am not feeling well. I think I'm going to head home early."

"Fine by me."

Oksana took the last blissful bite of the sandwich. Then she felt Konstantin's eyes on her yet again. She looked in his direction. He that weird look on his face, the same one when he asked about her night in the hotel. "I think you should head home too," he said.

Oksana frowned. "What? But you said a body came."

"No I didn't."

Irritation flickered across her face. "Yes, you did. You said he died of asphyxiation, and you know I like the breathy ones!"

"I will handle it." Konstantin reached for his coat. "Go home, Oksana."

"But I want to get paid."

"I'll pay you for the full day, just please go home."

Oksana balked. Konstantin never said please. "What is going on with you? You barely say anything all morning, now you're trying to get me to go home, is it-" Oksana's eyes widened. "Do I smell weird?"

"You don't smell weird!" Konstantin said. "All I am asking is you go home for the day. In fact, I think you should take the next several days off. Paid."

"What am I supposed to do!?"

"Take a vacation. Go visit Russia."

"What? I'm not going back there!"

"Then visit... I don't know Amsterdam. Milan. Paris. _Anywhere_ \- just-" Konstantin's voice shook. " _Please_ get out of London."

He was white as a sheet. "What is going on?" Oksana said. "Why do you want me to leave London so bad?"

"It is none of your concern."

"I think it is."

For a moment, Oksana thought he'd tell her the truth. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked so... tired. But then he closed up. "I told you. I am not feeling well, and I fear I might be contagious. It's best you are not here."

Oksana wanted to throw something. " _Why_ are you saying stupid things?"

Konstantin ignored her and began to gather his things. Oksana's mind was racing. Was it something she said? Had it been the sandwich? If she'd known he wanted it, she wouldn't have eaten it. Or what if it was something worse? Yes, what if Konstantin had done something illegal? Drugs? Debt? Or... _no_.

"Did you kill someone?" Konstantin was silent. Any other day it would have been a joke, but the way he was acting, he could have very well killed somebody. "You know I'd help you get rid of the body if you really-"

"You know why no other coroners in London will hire you?" Konstantin snapped, his words laced with vitriol. "Because you never take _anything_ seriously. You are lazy and disobedient. I give you one simple thing to do, not come to work, and what do you do? The exact opposite!"

"Oh, and you're so easy to work with?" Oksana said. "You're the grouchiest person I've ever met! I bring you coffee every day, and you never even say thank you!"

"At least I show up to work on time!" Konstantin bellowed.

"Oh, big deal! It's not like the bodies are getting any deader!"

"Go home, Oksana! Or you're fired!"

"Then fine! I will! And maybe I _will_ go to Paris! And I'll have a _great_ time!" Oksana shouted.

"Good! Have a great time!"

"I will!"

Oksana grabbed her coat and flipped him off on her way out. She slammed the door for good measure. And knocked over the plant in the lobby. She walked outside, but the cool London air did little to chill her anger. Her chest heaved. She tried to be nice to Konstantin and what did she get? Kicked out. Oksana stalked down the street, not sure of where she was going, but sure that she wanted to be anywhere but here.

She stopped at the corner of the street. Someone was behind her. She turned around. "Konstantin, I..."

But no one was there.

Oksana rolled her eyes. He didn't want to apologize? Fine. She wished she hadn't eaten the sandwich. Then maybe he would have choked on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! I based the suit Eve finds on [this suit](https://images.selfridges.com/is/image/selfridges/161-2000084-585442QEAAA_SUGARPINK_ALT01?%24PLP_ALL%24) by Alexander McQueen!
> 
> Also! If any guests are reading this and want to make an account on AO3 I have a couple invites! Figured someone might want one with the pandemic and all...


End file.
